Regret
by Ace Clark
Summary: It's all they can think about: ADAM. The taste, the smell, the euphoria. How to get more of it? This thought consumes them. That's the horror of being spliced up at the bottom of the ocean: ADAM becomes the world, and Rapture becomes a harsher hell.
1. Some Tasty ADAM

"God dammit, did you get the bloody ADAM yet!?" Hank hollered over his shoulder upon hearing footsteps approach him, his British accent thick and harsh as it echoed off of the barren walls of his meager apartment. He stood hunched in a corner of the room, shaking uncontrollably as he methodically chewed his fingertips bloody. The urge was growing within him; just the thought of some ADAM slivering down his throat made his face twitch into a crazed smile.

"Oh, I got us some ADAM, Hanky," Dan said, a similar smile laced across his own disfigured face.

Hank turned around quickly, the eager anticipation shining in his yellowed eyes. He felt his heart flutter despite himself at the image before him: Danny, holding a Sister by her knotted hair, her large open eyes tear-filled; her body swinging slighting as Danny held her before him.

"Holy hell! You got…you got one of these little bitches!?," Hank said, gesturing at her dangling body. "How'd you manage…?"

Dan's smile grew wider upon being complimented, something that did not occur often. "Well ya see, Hanky, I was roamin' Fontaine's Fisheries, you know how I like to mingle there despite the smell, and what's do I see?" He raised the Sister in his hands and thrust it outwards towards Hank. She squirmed and kicked before him, attempting to claw at Dan's visceral grip."Little Susie here harvesting ADAM from some poor unfortunate splicer son-of-a-bitch. I looks around, looking for the Daddy and I don't see nothin'. Nothin'! So I's grabs her from behind, take her little neck—" He closed his fist around the neck of the girl in imitation. "And SNAP! I hear the pleasant crunching as her fuckin' neck gets spun 'round! Then I carried her on back. Bitch has been throwin' a damn fit ever since!" Dan slapped the struggling Little Sister across the face, summoning more tears from her large opalescent eyes.

"But no Daddy? You manage yourself a little one, and you get off," Hank snapped his fingers. "Like that?"

"Well, hell, if you don't want any of this tasty ADAM I's got, then you can just be on your way."

Hank shook his hands in protest. "No, no! I mean, it was just…," he thought for a second on how to phrase his thought. "…It's just a little _convenient_ 'tis all."

Dan shrugged. "I ain't complaining!" He broke out in sharp laughter, not stopping until only wheezing escaped him.

"Well, let's be on with it! Put her down!" Hank barked, growing impatient. The shaking was so great now that he had to clench his jaw to prevent his teeth from chattering.

The constant smile vanished from Dan now, disappointed that his single glorifying moment had ended. He threw the Sister to the floor, her skull audibly cracking from the force. "We's got to move fast," he said hungrily. "She'll be healin' up right fast."

Hank raised a rusted scalpel in his hand as answer. It glimmered despite its lack of luster. "Got it from Steinman's, " his faded smile returning. "Knew it'd be useful."

The unfortunate child's eyes grew wide at the sight of the scalpel and she struggled to crawl away, her bruises visibly healing upon her face, the sickly green marks fading into her skin. Hank wasted no time. He tackled her to the floor and repeating slammed her head into the floorboards until they were sufficiently bloody. Several of the girl's teeth were flown loose, her nose flattened into her face.

Hank then rolled the girl on to her back and tore off her stained polka dotted dress. Dan had another fit of manic laughter at the sight. Hank remained focused, however. His entire energy devoted towards controlling the shakes and to glide the scalpel across the girl's pale stomach. The dark blood spilled over the cut as he progressed it from one side to the other with the knife, the blood dribbling across her legs. His already bloodied fingers groped at the seam of the crude cut he had made, trying to open it further and reach the parasite of his pleasure. The cut was shallow, but Hank dug in through the girl's bloody flesh, pulling outwards as he moved further towards _it. _The girl let out a terrible and painful screech as she watched Hank's hand prode itself deeper into her. He wormed his way further downwards through the meat of her stomach until his fingertips grasped themselves around a cold and slimy presence. It pulsated in his fingers. Hank let out a sigh. Still alive.

And then he heard it. A low and prolonged agonizing howl that spread throughout the room. A sound that made Hank's once uplifted heart fall to his knees.

Daddy had come back for his bitch.


	2. An Angry Daddy

Cold and paralyzing dread spread itself across Hank, suffocating him with its profoundness. The sea slug still squirming in the girl's warm stomach, Hank yanked it out with surprising force. The girl let out a muted gasp then, and murmured softly, agonizingly, "_Where are you, Mr. B?_" Her beautiful eyes clouded over with death, her body going limp.

The parasite let out a high pitched yell upon hitting the outside air and Hank wasted no time in biting off the creature's head, spitting it to the floor and squeezing a combination of the slug's innards and ADAM into his mouth. He savored the salty sweet combination as it slid itself down his throat and into his needy stomach. Savagely wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he tilted his head back and readied the parasite's carcass for another filling.

Dan brutishly grabbed it from him then, pushing him to the floor. He squirted the remaining ADAM into the back of his own throat, crushing the sea slug's body as he attempted to extract every last drop of the honey sweet liquid.

The Bid Daddy's pounding footsteps vibrated the walls of the room, and dust scattered into the air as he loomed closer on his quest of vengeance. Dan threw the creature's remains to the floor and eyed Hank nervously. The fear was noticeable on both of their faces. The apartment they had been occupying had only one entrance and they could not hope to leave that way without getting noticed by the Daddy.

Thinking quickly, Hank grabbed the Sister's corpse and ran it over to the kitchen, Dan following in pursuit.

"What're we gonna do? The damn thing is outside the door?" Dan whispered, sweating profusely now.

"This is _your_ fault! You led _it_ back to _us_!" Hank whispered back harshly, it taking everything he had not to scream. Dan recoiled as if hurt, but Hank had no time for _feelings_. They would need to be fast. He hastily attempted to stuff the Sister into the cabinet under the sink; best to not get caught with the evidence. She was reluctant even in death, however, and Hank ended up having to crudely severe her arms and legs with a meat cleaver to get her to fit. Blood was splattered all across his clothes and the floor, but Hank paid it no mind. He sort of like the aesthetic it gave the room.

"How do we get out of this one Hank! We are fucking doomed!" The room resonated with the methodical pounding of the beast's feet. He was almost upon them. "We should run while we still can!" Dan anxiously looked over at the apartment door, expecting it to burst open at any moment.

"You can't outrun no Daddy, especially not now that you killed its girl!"

"Then what!? We die here? Now!?"

"Grab the shotgun."

Dan scoffed at even at the inclination of fighting a Daddy. It was suicide, and even he knew that it was beyond mere stupidity. Hank glared at him in response, however.

"Look, the plan's simple. Fontaine, he's got himself his apartment up the elevator in the center of the square. The only way to reach that apartment is by the elevator, any fool who's ever worked for Fontaine, myself included, knows that! We hold off Daddy 'till we reach it and up we go. How he gonna follow, eh? Daddies, they ain't got no wings."

"You need a bloody code you bastard!"

"And I's got the code!"

"Likely story that is! If you had the code to Fontaine's place then that's is where we'd be livin', in his fuckin' mansion! Not in this dump!"

"We ain't got the time! I'll explain when we're up there! But I's got it!"

The apartment door burst upon suddenly then as the Daddy made his entrance, the metal drill fused to his flesh spinning violently, ready to be plunged through a man's soft and fragile body. The creature arched its back and raised its head, letting out a terrible moan of torment that made all other sounds inaudible.

Dan crouched in the corner of the room, hands over ears desperate for the noise to end. Hank grabbed the shotgun Dan had dropped to the floor and loaded it with electric buckshot from the top cabinet. He slapped Dan across the face. Hard. If they were to have any chance of success they would need to make the first move.

The Daddy charged the kitchen the door, the deadly turning of the drill once again noticeable.

Hank readied the shotgun to his shoulder.


	3. Going Up

Smoke exploded into the air, rubble and debris being flown across the entire apartment as the Daddy rammed itself through the wall and into the kitchen Dan and Hank were hiding in. All they could see through the dense mist of dust was the lights on the Daddy's suit glowing an ominous and foreboding red.

It was the sign that Hank needed as he leveled the shotgun on the Daddy. The cloud of smog cleared, and the Daddy spotted them in the corner of the kitchen, his drill out in front of him, whirling maddening. Hank seized the opportunity, the shotgun kicking into his shoulder and the Daddy moaning in pain as the full blast of the shot hit him squarely in the face, electricity running itself over the entirety of his suit.

Hank laughed in delight at the monster's misery. "Take that you sick fuck!" He let another shot ring into the air, but this time the Daddy pushed through the pain and charged towards them, his boots banging across the floor as his he sprinted at them with surprising speed.

Hank sidestepped the creature through the newborn hole the Daddy had made in the wall, Dan scrambling after him. The monstrosity attempted to stop, but his momentum was too much, and he slammed loudly into the wall on the opposite end of the kitchen. Hank laughed at this humorous effect, and he seized the opportunity to reload the shotgun and blast the collapsed mess in the back twice more. Electricity surged across the creature's metal plating, the kitchen alight with the fluorescent blue sparks.

"Let's go Hank, let's go!" Dan yelled, fleeing to the remains of the apartment's entrance. The Daddy stirred on the floor, and brought itself up. Hank fumbled with the shells as he attempted to reload the shotgun once more, paralyzed with fear as the creature stood once more, looming over him. He raised the gun to shoot, but the Daddy rammed into him and Hank helplessly watched the ceiling pass before his vision as he flew across the apartment to the opposite wall, slamming painfully into it and he being the one to collapse this time. The Daddy raised the drill and charged once more, and Hank, seeing defeat, fled after Dan towards the elevator. Not yet recovered from the hit, he moved slowly towards the courtyard steps and the Daddy gained from behind him. Hank felt the ground beneath him shake from the behemoth's weight and he paused briefly to glance over his shoulder.

"Oh shit…"

The creature thrust the drill out towards Hank, an attempt to impale him, and Hank leaned against the balcony banister to avoid its fatal blow. The Daddy swung at him with his other arm, before Hank even had time to recover, cleanly hitting him on the side of the head. Hank felt the air rush by him as he fell the single story down to the courtyard below, landing heavily on his back. He spat up blood, his eyes wide with shock. The shotgun had flown across the cobblestone that made up the courtyard towards the elevator. Dan, who had been playing his role as coward near the elevator door, grabbed it then. It was still loaded.

The Big Daddy ran down the staircase and planted himself over Hank, who was too engulfed with pain and fear to will himself to move. The drill loomed before him, and Hank watched as the ridged and glinting cone of metal swirled hypnotically. The creature pulled the drill back, readying to have it pierce through Hank's already scarred and brutalized face. Hank clenched his eyes closed, questioning in his mind what having a piece of metal drill through ones head would feel like, agonizingly waiting for it to actually happen.

The pleasant bang of a shotgun blast rang through the hallow air, and Hank willed himself to open his eyes to see the Daddy backpedaling in pain, the blue surge of electricity running over him. He turned to see Dan holding the smoking shotgun in his hands, trembling like a frightened child. Dan, having witnessed Hank's fall, quickly helped him to his feet with his free hand and half walked, half-carried, him to Fontaine's glass encased elevator. A sign next to the elevator read: _For the personal and private use of Mr. Frank Fontaine only. All trespassers will be dealt with._ Hank groaned, and not because of his injuries. He had experience in being _'dealt_' with. Part of him debated whether or not it was better to simply be killed by the Daddy than the dread of going into Fontaine's apartment.

"The code, Hank! C'mon, the bloody fuckin' code!" Dan anxiously yelled at him, rekindled fear spreading across his face as he witnessed the Daddy rise and make ready to charge once more.

Hank noiselessly raised his hand to the elevator's control panel and typed in the terrible code: **5744**. The glass slide away and Dan dragged Hank into the open and circular elevator awaiting them; a tight fit considering that it was only ever met for one person.

The Daddy swerved in front of the elevator, the familiar drill raised. The glass repositioned itself, and the lift started to rise. The entire elevator shook as the Daddy broke through the fragile glass and into the base of the elevator, but Hank and Dan were already far above the pitiful creature. The elevator rose thankfully fast. The Daddy let out a terrifying wail, a somber and respondent noise that spread throughout the entire shaft. Dan took it as a sign of defeat and allowed himself a smile in victory.

"I guess you was right, Hanky. Them Daddy's really ain't got no wings."

He was met with silence, however. Hank knew that they had escaped one danger and had stumbled onto another. After all, anything to do with Fontaine was bad business.


	4. We Shouldn't Be Here

_Author's Note:_ _Changes have been made for clarity regarding Dan and Hank's relationship to other splicers in Rapture._

A pleasant high-pitched 'ding' filled the air as the elevator came to a smooth stop. The glass separated and Dan positioned Hank over his shoulder, readying to move him across the room. Hank did not appear to have any major injuries; he was not bleeding nor did any bones seem broken, but it was evident from his labored breathing that something was wrong with him. Dan was unaware that it was fear that caused his entire body to go limp and his face pale.

The room before them was fittingly unusual; Fontaine could hardly be classified as average, or even 'normal' for the matter. It was more-or-less a Zen garden of sorts, rocks scattered in smoothed sand. Dan carried Hank by it, his dragging feet thoughtlessly distorting the pristine sand. He approached the door and walked through it, not noticing the newly broken security camera. Dan was never one to notice the details.

He continued down a short hallway and walked into the center of the Fontaine apartment. He could not help but let his draw drop at the sight that assailed him: a grand chandelier, a large open banister stairwell, elaborate carvings and paintings.

"Looks like Fontaine's done pretty well for hisself, eh?" Dan said, his eyes circling the room. Hank gave in response what to Dan sounded like a muffled whimper. Assuming that he was in pain, Dan laid him on a sofa in the entrance hall, where Hank readily brought his hands over his eyes and began vigorously shaking his head side to side.

"We shouldn't be here, god, we should _not_ be here," Hank mumbled, more to himself than to Dan.

"Have you jumped off the deep end? Are ya seein' this place? I mean, Jesus, I'da killed to have a place like this!"

"We shouldn't be here, we _can't_ be here, oh god, why? Why!? We got to leave, we has got to gets the hell outta here. I can't be here. He can't find out, he can't," Hank continued, his hand still covering his face. Dan shook his head at him. _I knew he'd finally lose it. They all go mental in the end. _Dan shrugged it off; just another companion lost. He had learned to live with it. Shotgun still in hand, he walked back into the main room, leaving Hank to continue speaking what to him was pure nonsense.

To be expected, the first thing he saw upon reaching the landing atop the staircase was none another the bar.

"Bloody hell…" was all that he could say at the sight before him. Wines, beers, spirits of all kinds where before him. He greedily grabbed a bottle of vodka off of a nearby table and savored the burning sensation as the alcohol eased down his parched throat. Before ADAM, alcohol was his first true addiction. The drink brought memories back to him; nights at bars alone, the girlfriends that had left him, the stares he would receive while aimlessly roaming the streets, desperately trying to determine where his life was headed. That fateful day _he_ was chosen.

Dan threw the bottle from him then, it loudly shattering against the opposite wall. He hated those memories, hated _that _day. No, he couldn't think about it. It was gone, over, done. He was loser. He would just have to learn to live with it now more than ever. He moved across the room, glaring at all the bottles that jumped out at him, enticed him.

Then a whirling sound, similar to the revving of a car that refuses to start. The sound was all too familiar to Dan, and he threw himself against the floor as a fluid stream of bullets flew into the air above him. _Turret. Behind the bar counter._ Dan shuffled himself along the floor toward it, shotgun ready. He peered his head around the edge of the bar counter from where he was on the floor. He was met with a scattering of bullets, which tore through the weak wood that made up the counter. He ducked his head back quickly, his heart racing. The whirling noise of the turret filled the air. Thinking quickly he leaped upward from the ground and shot at the turret from over the tabletop of the counter. The turret froze from the shot, electricity steadily surging across it.

Dan jumped over the counter and worked quickly to hack the gun turret. He snapped wires, reordering them. Others he merely ripped out. The dexterity of his hands was admirable, although he allowed several swears to escape him as he was painfully zapped several times from the current of electricity surrounding the turret. He removed his hands, his work done, and waited expectantly. The red light on top of the turret faded and was replaced by a friendly green glow. Dan wiped his forehead in relief. He started to head back to down the stairwell to check if Hank had entirely gone crazy, but was stopped by a peculiar sight. A corpse.

It was a disgustingly distorted woman, lying on her back, her face arguably more scarred than his own, although it was difficult to tell, considering that it had been bludgeoned bloody with some blunt object. Dan spotted a pistol in her hand. He groped it from her stiff fingers, forcefully peeling each one away from the handle. Dan uncharacteristically thought on the circumstances of the situation: a corpse, to his eyes 'fresh', in Fontaine's elusive apartment that was supposedly accessible only by his code-oriented private elevator. Something was amiss. He was not able to ponder for long when a male voice, crude and ugly, filled the air.

"And what is this? Hank, is that you in my apartment? I'm disappointed. I thought you were smarter than that. It seems that I have had no shortage of intruders today. Tsk, tsk, tsk. No what was it that I'd told you if I's ever saw you in here again? I recall it being something along the lines of '_I'll kill you, you son-of-a-bitch'_. And what's this? You've brought a friend this time. How very unlike you. It seems that he has helped himself to my drinks. Well, this is what I say to you, pal: Enjoy it while you can. It will be your last. I'd love to handle to this matter personally, but unfortunately I've got a bigger fish to catch. Oh, and Hank, say hi to your girly for me. I bet she is _dyin'_ to hear from you."

With those closing statements the hidden intercom turned to static, followed by disheartening silence. Body tensed, Dan remained hidden under the counter, waiting for some indication of what was to come. He was met with a soft murmur, then a buzz, and then full out screaming. Crazed and wild shouts bombarded him and Dan raised his shotgun over the counter. Splicers. God, did he hate splicers. Especially the ones under Fontaine's control. Nasty buggers. It all had to with pheromones. Andrew Ryan had nearly every splicer in Rapture dancing to his fiddle, except Dan and Hank. For whatever reason it was, they were unaffected. Immune, resilient. Or else they would just be pawns in Ryan's game of chess against Fontaine, like they always had been. Always would have been. Perhaps Fontaine was the genius behind their immunity; somehow he was able to maintain a group of splicers all his own, to have his own army of crazed lackeys to do his bidding. Those damned nasty buggers.

A thought flashed across his mind. _Hank_. Insane or not, he needed his help. Luckily he was spared having to warn him.

"Dan, god dammit where are you!? They're coming!"

"Hank, get over here, behind the bar."

Hank bounded up the stairs and leaped behind the counter. Dan wordlessly handed him the recently acquired pistol. Hank followed suit in rising it over the counter.

"We shouldn't be here. We can't be here. He's found us. Oh, god, he knows. We have got to leave. We've got to get outta here…" Hank continued his mutterings, his face blank as his eyes darted across the room for the expectant splicer onslaught.

"Hank?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut the hell up."

Hank nodded.


	5. A Dance with the Splicers

The dreadful sound of the splicer's hurried footsteps became overpowering; the noise of their demented yelling filling the entire room. Dan glanced over next to him to see Hank uncontrollably shaking, sporadically pointing the pistol in every direction in complete paranoia. Dan grabbed a beer from under the counter and popped the top. The bottle was lukewarm, the beverage inside flat, but he drank it all the same, allowing the heady concoction to work its charm. He offered one to Hank.

"Drink up Hanky! They'll be here soon and the best we can do now is have a little fun with it, right? 'Sides, you jumpin' around like that is damned distracting."

Hank shakily took the bottle, brought the lid to his lips, and drank it empty. A crooked smile emerged across his face, and he grabbed another, draining it just as quickly.

"And to think I thought you'd completely lost it." Dan said cynically, hiding his relief. "But seriously, you never struck me as a man to hold his alcohol, you bein' a dandy and all." He grabbed another beer himself.

"I'd have you know I'd go to Fort Frolic damn near every Friday and get myself wasted. Those were the days! Hey now, cheers!" Hank finished, clanking his freshly opened bottle against Dan's.

A splicer emerged at the top of the stairwell, a browned pipe dangling lazily in her hand, a masquerade mask tied across her face. She spotted them, steadily drinking the bar counter dry, and let out a shriek.

"Traitors! Traitors! Look at me, look at me!" She tore her mask off, revealing her grotesque face: one of her eyes drooped severely lower than the other, her nose a small and bloody point. "Steinman told me I'm beautiful! I'm beautiful! Tell me I'm beautiful! Please! It's not too late! Not too late! I'm gonna be a star! You'll see Ryan! I'll be a star! A star!"

Dan and Hank casually eyed her from across the room, and Hank slowly let a shot ring from the pistol, a mixture of blood, skull fragments, and the pinkish remains of her brain splattering on the wall behind her. The shot hit her cleanly in the face.

"Nice shootin'," Dan complimented.

"Why, thank you." Hank said with a laugh, pausing to finish what he thought was his fifth beer, although in reality was actually closer to his eighth.

The girl's death triggered a rampage of splicers to come bounding up the stairs, the room eclipsed in the noise of their screams. Several rushed towards the counter, weapons raised above their heads. Shots exploded into the air, the bullets from the turret tearing themselves through the unfortunate one nearest them. Dan and Hank calmly laid rest to the others, aiming as best they could through their drunken stupor, laughing crazily as the bodies hit the floor.

"This is turning out to be a promising evening," Dan said, his shotgun raised in expectation.

"What!?" Hank yelled in response, deaf to what Dan had told him.

"I said, 'This is turning out—," he was cut off from the yelling of an approaching splicer. He angrily shot the women in the chest, and even once she had collapsed to the floor, he let a second one hit her in the back. He hated being interrupted.

"I said, 'This is turning out to be a promising evening'!" Dan yelled back at Hank, who was stilling gazing outward, awaiting more splicers. If the noise in the room was any indicator, they would soon be having more company.

"Indeed it is," Hank yelled back. He spotted a record player in the corner, collapsed on its side. "Oh! Cover me Dan, I think I've figured out a way to make this a much more interesting evening than it's already been."

With that, Hank attempted to bring himself over the counter, but ended up painfully falling over to the other side, his legs sprawled amongst the barstools. Dan could be heard loudly laughing from behind him, even amidst the torment of sound. Hank brought himself up, however, and stumbled towards the record player, his vision blurred from the alcohol. He turned it upright upon reaching it, and brought the needle to the record that luckily was still intact. He cranked the handle and waited eagerly for the music. When he was met with nothing more than the continual shouts of fast approaching splicers, he kicked it angrily. He tried again. Nothing.

"God dammit." He paused to hiccup loudly. "Piece of crap."

A new wave of splicers emerged at the landing, and Hank shot wildly into the crowd of then, whistling a made-up tune to replace the missing music.

His sporadic shots proved effective, although entirely inaccurate, and corpses steadily hit the floor in succession, their blood merging together to create a luminous pool. Hank spat at them and drunkenly brought himself back to the bar. He started to climb over the counter once again, but thinking better of it merely walked around.

"I'm sorry Danny, the music," he attempted to point at the record player but could not hold his arm steady. "Stupid thing wouldn't play." Dan just gave him an inquisitive look as rebuttal. _I knew he couldn't hold his beer_.

"Well, that's is damn okay Hank. We don't need no music."

"No, no, no, Danny! We _need_ music! How else are we supposed to dance?"

"Dance?" Dan said flatly, wondering if he had heard incorrectly.

"Yes, _dance_," Hank sighed exasperatingly. "You can't dance without music!" He started drunkenly twirling in place, his eyes closed, focused on the imaginary music coursing through the hollows of his mind.

"Oh god," Dan muttered, placing his free hand on his face. "Okay, you know what, how 'bout we just kill the splicers and walk off with our skins intact, eh? Unfortunately, dancing is _not_ on my to-do list!"

"Fine." Hank said sullenly, suddenly stopping in place. He brought his pistol back up over the counter, his eyes hung low. Dan let an exasperated sigh escape him. As much as he needed Hank at the moment, he could not help but wonder if he would have been better off simply letting Hank's face get beaten in.

More splicers emerged at the stairwell landing and they both ducked below the counter as bullets flew past their heads, shattering the bottles of alcohol behind them.

"Shoot, god damn it!" Dan yelled at Hank who was gazing around mindlessly, still hurt at his dancing proposal being stricken down. Letting out a deep sigh, Dan emerged from below the counter and beginning shooting at anything that moved, his face warm from the beer and his finger fast on the trigger. Hank attempted to shoot, but his bullets missed their intended targets, burrowing themselves deep into the floor, the ceiling, and the furniture. Dan angrily grabbed the pistol from him; it was easier to handle than the shotgun, and at this point Hank was simply wasting valuable bullets. He resumed firing, the turret loudly assisting him. Hank crossed his arms and simply watched, eventually breaking out into whistling once more. He stopped when Hank shot him a glare.

The splicers continued to encroach upon them with renewed vigor, wildly rushing towards them, their insane babbling a chorus of sound. A splicer charged the counter, a pipe ready in his hands, his eyes alight in dementia. Dan aimed and pulled the trigger. He was met with a click. He looked down at the gun and tried again. _Click_.

"Shit."

The splicer brought the pipe over his head, ready to bring it down across Dan's face. Dan closed his eyes.

The sound of shattering glass and the splicer was collapsed on the floor, writhing in pain. Dan looked over to see Hank holding the pointed remains of a beer bottle. Hank gave him a sheepish smile and dropped the bottle remains to the floor.

_At least he is good for something._

The fight continued and the room was alight with the flare of smoking muzzles and the ping of bullets filled the room. Dan remained focused, reloading the pistol and laughing as corpse after corpse was flown to the ground, bodies continually submitting to the burning bullets that had pierced their flesh.

And then…silence. It made Dan panic and he desperately searched the room with his eyes for its meaning. It was unexpected, this lack of noise, and his ears rang loudly.

"Hey, Hank we've got to go," he whispered nervously.

"Go?" Hank struggled his feet, grasping the counter for support. He had collapsed onto the floor. "Where we going?"

"Dunno, but we can't stay here for long. Something's not right."

"We can't go back down the elevator. Daddy is down there." Hank hiccuped loudly.

"Yeah, well, these splicers are getting in here somehow, and I doubt it's through the elevator. That thing can barely fit the two of us."

"So, we're goin'?"

Dan nodded.

Hank looked at all the yet unopened bottles sulkily, not yet wanting to leave them. They had been his one escape so far. He grabbed a beer and drank it; some of it sloppily streaming down his cheeks. He smacked his lips and let out a sigh, staring down into the emptiness of the bottle. He threw it behind his shoulder, letting it shatter on the floor.

"Alright, let's go."


	6. They Are Getting in Somehow

Dan grabbed Hank by the shirt and forcibly led him down the banister staircase; Hank had been annoyingly stumbling over to it on his own before Dan had decided that he was simply too intoxicated to reach the landing on his own, let alone walk down the stairs. Dan attempted to lead Hank down the stairs, step by step, but Hank would constantly loose his footing and collapse onto him. Exasperated, Dan stepped behind Hank and lurched his arms forward, giving Hank an unexpected shove.

Hank bounded downwards, falling through space and stale air, waving his arms wildly in a vain attempt to maintain balance on the stairs. He painfully came to a halt as a tangled mess on the bottom stair of the banister. Dan walked nonchalantly down to him and gave him a light tap with the tip of his shoe. Hank stirred but did not rise. _Bruised but not broken_, Dan thought. He nudged Hank again, but he responded just as resiliently.

"Oh god," Dan muttered, his face in his hands. "Hank, get the hell up, we don't got all day. Besides, just be glad I didn't pistol-whip you"

Hank clenched his teeth as he twisted onto his back from his position on the floor so that he was facing Dan. "I just got pushed down the fuckin' stairs and now you're yelling at me for going too slow…" He winced as he brought himself up. Dan made no effort to help.

"It's all the drink in ya. God, you're more useless than Ryan. But I have a solution," Dan added smugly.

"What?" Hank asked nervously.

Dan walked up to Hank and wordlessly pointed towards the top of the stairs. Hank followed the length of his finger, turning his head in that direction and squinting to see what it was that he was supposed to be looking for.

"Dan, what the hell am I suppos—" Hank was cut off from his thought as he stumbled backwards in pain, doubled over and barely able to stand. He looked up and glared at Dan. _Bastard_.

That bastard had just brutally sent him a punch to the stomach. Hank, eyes watering, opened his mouth to let out the words of profanity forming in his mind when his stomach groaned objectively. He tried to close his mouth, but the hot and acidic liquid had already filled his cheeks. He fell to the floor and let nausea over take him. A torrent of vomit spewed from his mouth, splattering noisily on the floor. Dan watched amusedly, a wide and obscene smirk across his face. Hank continued to empty the contents of his stomach and stood up dizzily when he had finished, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Better?" Dan asked, his bemused expression still plastered on his face, his arms crossed. Hank nodded at risk of being punched again. "Then let's go already." Dan said was a sigh of exasperation. He led the way, carefully sidestepping the steaming puddle of retch Hank had made. Hank had little choice but to stumble after him, and even despite himself, he had to admit that he felt better. He swallowed painfully, his mouth still bitter with the taste of his regurgitate, and summoned the will to speak.

"Where…Where exactly we goin' again?" Hank asked, his hand on his forehead. He had a splitting and distracting headache.

"Wherever the splicers are comin' from," Dan answered plainly.

"Believe it or not, I'm aware of that much. But _where_ is that exactly? Do you even know where to look?"

"Not a clue."

"I thought as much." Hank brought himself over to a glass display cabinet glinting casually in the corner of the room, an assortment of foreign cigars organized neatly inside. Hank grabbed the pistol out of Dan's reluctant hands and lazily slammed the butt of it into the glass. The glass shattered instantly, its shards noisily ringing high-pitched notes of music as they fell and scattered across the marble tiled floor. Hank groped aimlessly inside the case, randomly lifting cigars, waiting a second between each one before continuing down the row. He stopped when a single cigar refused to budge against his grip. He smiled and tried again, violently jerking it upward. The upper portion of the cigar clicked upwards and Dan gazed cautiously around the room to see its effect. He was met with disappointment when nothing happened.

"I thought you said you knew what the hell you were doin'?"

Hank merely glared at him. Dan wheezed a hollow laugh.

"Just wait for it, Danny, any second." Hank responded callously, turning his back towards Dan and facing the floor.

"What are you lookin' it at?" Dan asked, perplexed. Hank darted another glare at him. Dan recoiled backwards, and looked observantly at the floor in suit with Hank, obvious annoyance on his face. It was then that a grouping of four of the marble tiles began to rise and slide upwards and over, revealing a shallow circular hole, surrounded by cement, a metal ladder attached to its side.

"I give you one splicer secret entrance," Hank announced grandly, giving a slight bow.

Dan simply stood amazed and open-mouthed.

Hank slide the pistol into the back of his pants and descended downwards into the hollow abyss without him, the clank of his shoes resonating loudly against the ladder steps, his breathing growing heavier with each movement he made into the darkness.

It wasn't until his vision had all but disappeared that he heard a second set of metallic clangs signaling that Dan had decided to jump down the rabbit hole as well.


	7. Next

"There's gotta be a mistake."

"I can assure you, sir, that there is no mistake. Next."

Dan stuck his arm out, blocking the man who was attempting to move by him to the front of the line. He had come too far, with too much hope and expectation, to have it all end like this. His kept rereading what the paper in front of him said, assured that it couldn't be right, simply praying that it wasn't right.

"I am telling you, it's a mistake." Gritted teeth, lowered voice; it was taking everything he had not to grab and beat the arrogant little Aussie who was so indifferently casting him off to his fate as if he were nothing. He would not be a nobody again, he was not going back to that life.

"Sir, I have told you already. There is no mistake. Now, I need to ask you to move aside. Next."

"Look, I'm tellin' you it's a—"

"Next."

"But you gotta understand that—"

"Next."

"If you say that one more—"

"Next!"

The man behind him, a long nosed Bulgarian, pushed him to the side. The other people in line simply glared. Dan glared back, grabbed his single suitcase from the floor and stormed out of the room. _Some fucking reception_.

He thought he had made it. I mean he was in Rapture. Bloody. Fucking. _Rapture_. And then like sand through his fingertips, it was gone, yet another hope burnt to ashes and thrown to the wind.

He looked down at the sheet of paper the Aussie had handed to him. It had his name, height, eye color, every quantifier possible to describe him. The sheet listed his new apartment at Cromwell Suites, rules and regulations he would be expected to follow, and emergency contact numbers, all in an orderly fashion with cold black typeface. And then lastly there it was, staring back at him. His heart had dropped so low that he couldn't even breathe.

_Occupation: Custodian_

He crumpled the paper and threw it to the floor.

"Hurry up, Dan," Hank called over his shoulder.

Dan had let his mind wander, a rare moment for him: Rapture did not allow much time for daydreaming. He picked up his pace.

The ladder had led them into a medium-sized corridor; it was accommodating enough so that they could stand at full height, but so narrow that they were forced to proceed in a single file. The walls were dry, but the air was damp and humid. Dan could feel his face moisten with sweat. Lights strung from the ceiling provided dull, yellow light. Hank had found a control panel when they had finally reached the end of the ladder and were met solid ground. Even in the complete darkness, Hank had found it right away. It wasn't difficult for Dan to connect the pieces as to why.

"This doesn't seem very convenient for splicers," he mused out loud.

Hank scoffed. "This tunnel was never built to help splicers."

"Yeah, well what was it built for, huh? You got the answers, don't you Hanky?"

Hank didn't provide an answer, but he did smile back at him. Dan shivered involuntarily, but kept his silence. Hank scared him, although he wouldn't allow himself to admit. He had seen a lot of crazies, killed a lot too. But Hank, he was something else.

The air was making it hard for him to breathe, his hands were trembling. Dan confronted himself with thoughts of ADAM and licked his lips.

Dan noticed with curiosity that the further they traveled through the tunnel, the clearer he could see. A brighter, white light was beginning to mesh with the faint yellow glow of the tunnel. Hank stood still. Dan instinctively followed his lead. Silence. And then they both heard it. There was music.

At first Dan entertained the idea that it was a recording, but the sound was clear and surreal and haunting and he knew what it was: a violin.

The music was schizophrenic and deranged. It swelled in volume, wild sixteenth notes bounding off the walls, manic tremolos. And then it was soft and lyrical and beautiful. And then it was morose and deep. And then it was gone.

There was nothing.

And then there was laughter.


End file.
